


A Convivial Encounter

by Draycevixen



Series: Collection of POI fic by Draycevixen [39]
Category: Forever (TV), Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Community: intoabar, Conversations, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Into A Bar Challenge. </p><p>My prompt was: <i>Harold Finch goes into a bar and meets... Joanna Reece (Forever)!</i></p><p>Harold decides to check up on a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Convivial Encounter

Her feet hurt, she was hungry and she was tired of smiling at people she didn't know. 

"And this is Lieutenant Reece, one of the commissioner's up and coming stars."

She smiled and shook hands with yet another middle aged man in a business suit who then moved quickly on to shake someone else's hand. 

She snagged a bruschetta from a passing waiter and scanned the room again while she ate it, looking for an empty chair so she could at least sit down for a while. No such luck. The big drawback of hosting a police benefit fundraiser in McElroy's legendary New York cop bar instead of in a banquet room was the shortage of tables. 

She should have been home curled up on her couch, comfortable in pajama bottoms and her Eagles t-shirt, watching the game and sipping her second margarita while her steak grilled, but her captain had wanted her here so here she would stay. 

She shifted from foot to foot trying to find a little relief from her heels, shifting her glass of overly sweet white wine from one hand to the other. At least the jazz combo playing in the back corner of the bar was good. She'd spent the earlier part of the evening hovering nearby but had given it up when the constant round of introductions had her straining to make her voice heard over the band. 

As she turned to look for a seat again, she collided with a man spilling her drink down his jacket. 

"Oh god, I'm so sorry."

"No harm done, I'm sure." He pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his lapel. 

"At least let me get you some club soda." 

"Thank you, but it's not terribly effective for white wine stains I'm afraid. If you'll excuse me, I'll go and apply a little cold water."

She watched him limp away towards the restrooms at the back of the bar. He was nondescript except for a shock of hair and not very tall, without her heels they'd have seen eye to eye, but he was easily the most expensively dressed man in the room. 

"There you are, Reece." Her captain appeared at her elbow. "Where did Mr. Plover go? I thought I saw him over here with you." 

_Shit, Plover_. She'd managed to spill cheap catering grade wine on the fund's biggest contributor. She'd be lucky if it hadn't eaten clean through the fabric. Better to just admit it to the captain and get it over with. She straightened her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, captain, but—"

"I'm very sorry I had to leave to take that phone call. Perhaps I could get you that drink now and you could tell me more about decreased crime rates in your precinct. That is, if your captain might spare you?" 

"Of course, of course, Mr. Plover." The captain beamed his approval. 

Plover proffered his arm and she took it, grateful to have been spared her confession, allowing herself to be led to the bar where she was amused to notice two barstools became immediately vacant for them. Money didn't even need to talk at all. Plover continued to offer his arm as she climbed up on to a barstool, grateful to be off her feet. His manners were immaculate. Her mother would approve. 

"Now what would you like to drink, Lieutenant Reece?"

How did he know her name? Her curiosity must have showed on her face.

"Forgive me. I happen to have overheard you being introduced to someone else. Aren't you with the 31st precinct?"

"That's right, Mr. Plover."

"Please call me Harold. Now how about that drink?"

"Well, Mr.— Harold, the white wine isn't too bad." Better not to bad mouth the cheap wine to the person who was probably paying for most of it.

Plover grimaced. "I'm sure we can do better than that." As he studied the bottles on the shelves behind the bar one of the bartenders materialized out of nowhere. "Ardbeg I think, for me, with a side of spring water. And for you, Lieutenant Reece?"

Finally off her feet she was feeling a lot more relaxed. "I will have the same, thank you. And please call me Joanna."

"Joanna Reece." Plover's quirky smile lit up his face. 

"Did I say something funny, Mr.— Harold?"

"No, not at all. Please excuse me, Joanna, it was just a random thought on my part." The drinks arrived and Plover added a small amount of the spring water to his glass of whisky. "I was serious about wanting to hear more about your precinct, if you're willing to talk about it."

She was always happy to talk about her detectives whom she felt never got enough credit for their work but she wasn't used to having such an attentive audience. Plover didn't talk over her the way rich and powerful men were wont to try to do and he asked intelligent questions that prompted her to elaborate further whenever she thought he'd probably already heard enough. 

"I understand you've had an increase in solved homicides." Harold, as she was now coming to think of him, sipped his whisky. "I'm surprised I haven't seen anything about that in the newspapers."

Harold still read newspapers. She wasn't in the least bit surprised.

"The press are fast enough to jump on us if we make a mistake, god forbid we're ever fallible, but any attempt to discuss how well we're doing just isn't considered newsworthy or is met by a complaint about why we're not achieving the same results elsewhere." 

"Still, I would think the police department's PR people would jump at the opportunity."

"Normally they would." The jazz combo launched in to "Body and Soul" and she swayed slightly in time to it.

"You like the band, Lieutenant—"

She smiled at him and he corrected himself. 

"—Joanna?"

"Yes I do, very much. The music isn't usually anywhere near this good at these types of events." There was that smile again. "You hired them, didn't you?"

"Yes. It's always nice to meet a fellow jazz aficionado." Harold raised his glass and she clinked hers against it before drinking what was left. "Would you like another one, Joanna?"

She decided she would. Her feet were no longer hurting and the whisky and music were excellent as was Harold's company. She was feeling mellow and expansive. "Our increase in solved homicides is largely down to the great working relationship between Detective Martinez and Dr. Morgan, one of our medical examiners. The PR people haven't made up their mind yet on how to spin it or if it should even be spun."

"I know Henry."

"You do?" Looking at Harold, she could see it. The two men had very similar manners and styles even if Henry evidently couldn't afford the same tailor as Harold. She could easily picture them as friends, discussing some article in _The New Yorker_ or playing chess together. That decided it. This would be her last drink of the evening. 

"Yes. He does voluntary work with one of the medical clinics my charitable trust sponsors. However, I had no idea that he did anything as exciting as helping to solve crimes."

"Followed, of course, by the inevitable and endless piles of paperwork. The life of a New York City police detective is not a glamorous one, Harold."

"So my friends tell me."

"I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation, Mr. Plover, but the Commissioner was hoping you might join him for a drink." Her captain was back. 

"Yes, of course." Harold stood up. "Please excuse me, Joanna. It's been a pleasure talking to you."

"Likewise, Harold. Have a good evening." 

She extended her hand and he shook it before following the captain away into the crowd that had got even larger while they'd been speaking. 

 

She sipped her whisky and indulged herself in watching the crowd from her comfortable perch. She was surprised to note that Detectives Belden and Horace were now dating as no one worked that hard at maintaining space between them in this sort of crowd without having a relationship to hide. Sergeant Milden was drinking again and while it wasn't the right time to start anything she'd have to have a word with him later about it. And there was Dr. Morgan, crossing the floor towards Harold who'd just finished pulling his overcoat on after the coat check had retrieved it for him, mere feet away from where she was sitting.

"Harold!" Dr. Morgan clasped Harold by the upper arms and pulled him in to a gentle, if very affectionate, hug. "How lovely to see you."

The two men continued to stand in a loose friendly embrace of linked arms, exchanging the usual pleasantries. In the space between them she could see through the bar's window a tall man dressed in a long dark coat glaring at the pair of them. Then, just as quickly as he'd appeared, he was gone and she was left wondering if she'd imagined it or if the glaring man had just been looking unsuccessfully for someone in the bar and been frustrated by his failure.

"You must come by the store some time. Abe would love to see you."

"I will." Harold smirked at Dr. Morgan. "I have some albums for him."

"Dear god, no." Dr. Morgan grinned at Harold. "I've changed my mind." 

"Too late, Henry, too late. I'll see you soon." They broke apart and shook hands. "Goodnight." 

She watched Harold leave the bar, his progress somewhat hampered by the crowd. Outside, the glaring man suddenly appeared again, seizing Harold by the elbow and leading him away. 

She immediately stood up, the weight of her gun in its holster a comforting thing as she hurried to follow them. When she got outside she couldn't still see them but knew there was an alley a short walk in the direction they'd left in. As she turned the corner, she could hear a voice, probably belonging to the glaring man, moving further away down the alley. 

"What are you doing here, Harold?"

She moved slowly closer, staying close to the dumpsters, drawing her gun. The stranger didn't have much inflection in his voice but while he sounded more disappointed than angry and he did know Harold's name, _better safe than sorry_ had saved a lot of civilians' lives. 

"Mr. Plover has contributed a lot of money to the fund since 9/11 and then last year he instituted a scholarship fund for the children of police officers killed in the line of duty. He's a publicity shy recluse, McElroy's has no surveillance cameras and no pictures were taken tonight, but it was well past time he attended an event."

It was strange to hear Harold refer to himself in third person but then popular wisdom had it that a lot of rich recluses were eccentric. 

"Who's the man in the suit?" 

No, the glaring man didn't sound happy at all. 

"There were a lot of men in suits—"

"The one who had his arms around you, Harold."

"Dr. Henry Morgan. He's a medical examiner."

"Handsome and intelligent."

"He is quite a remarkable individual."

She peered around the corner of a dumpster and could see where the glaring man had Harold backed up against a wall yet nothing about Harold's body language suggested he was scared or intimidated. Indecision wasn't usually an issue for her but in this case she wasn't sure if she should intercede or walk away and mind her own business. 

"How did you meet?"

"I got his number."

So there was more to the story of Harold and Dr. Morgan than met the eye.

"Go on." The glaring man leaned one arm against the wall, not really boxing Harold in yet but looming over him more.

"And then I kept getting his number."

Harold was one persistent suitor. Funny, she wouldn't have put Dr. Morgan down as the sort to string someone along. 

"I suppose that makes sense in his line of work."

"You would think that, yes." Harold wasn't meeting the glaring man's eyes. 

Men had some strange ideas of what was attractive if they both thought being a medical examiner was a turn on.

"So you like him?" 

"Very much, John. I'd like for you to meet him. He's one of my favorite people in New York." 

_John_ cursed and leaned in fast. 

She raised her gun, just about to yell to alert them to her armed presence when John pulled Harold in to his arms and kissed him with a passion that was almost enough to make _her_ weak at the knees. 

When Harold pushed him back, John went readily enough so she put her gun back in its holster. 

"I'm sorry, Harold."

"I'm not." Harold raised his hand to lay it over John's heart. "I never said Henry was my favorite person." The same hand stopped John as he started to lean down again. "But we are somewhat exposed here and I think you should come home with me to discuss this further, in private."

"I do love a good... discussion."

As John continued to lean in, she turned quickly and headed back to the bar, not wanting them to see her on the street. She'd just made it back on to the barstool, surprisingly what remained of her drink was still waiting for her, when they walked slowly back past the window. 

As John hailed a cab, the breadth of his smile transforming his face from attractive to remarkable, Harold turned towards the bar window as the officer who'd been working the door walked up to her. 

"Lieutenant Reece, Mr. Plover said he believes this belongs to you." He handed her one of her earrings. She must have lost it in the alley.

"Thank you."

As the officer walked away she caught Harold's eye. He smiled at her, assuaging any worries she had about having offended him. 

Harold was good people. She grinned at him and mimed fanning herself. 

He bowed slightly, looking just like the cat that got the cream before he turned and climbed in to the waiting cab beside John.


End file.
